


Balete

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin adds a memory to Bilbo’s acorn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balete

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By the time he returns to the watch, everyone’s asleep except for Balin, sitting on a stone at the other side and peering out below. Thorin’s spent the day toiling through gold, and though there it seemed as though he could search forever without tiring, now that he’s back amidst his company, the hours weighs heavy on his shoulders. He doesn’t go down to greet Balin. In the back of his mind, the traitorous thought still whispers to him: _What if one of them has it?_ He tries to shake it off. It’s early, yet. They’ll find it. 

He finds Bilbo just at the mouth of the stairs, as though waiting for him. At first, he thinks Bilbo’s asleep, but as he creeps closer, he catches the movement of Bilbo’s tiny fingers, rolling something round inside his palm. His eyelashes flitter open at the sound of Thorin’s footsteps. While Thorin settles down beside his hobbit, Bilbo looks groggily up at him and murmurs, “Thorin.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin answered, hushed, so as not to wake the others. Fíli and Kíli are closest, lying half atop each other, only three meters or so back. They’re snuggled up under shared coats to fight the wind. Bilbo has no such protection. His feet are still bare, his ankles exposed, though he’s curled into himself. When Thorin loops a hand over Bilbo’s shoulder, Bilbo lets himself be drawn in to Thorin’s side. He leans his cheek on Thorin’s broad chest, lifts his legs over Thorin’s lap, and breathes a contented sigh, like this is just what he wanted. 

Thorin wraps his larger fingers around Bilbo’s little hand, and he gently guides it open. The acorn lies inside. Bilbo mumbles quietly, “It’s good luck, I think.” Though they’ve had very little luck so far. Bilbo reminds him, “We managed the dragon. We have all of us. We’re together. We’ll make it.” His smile is soft and brave for such a little creature, though there isn’t as much conviction in his voice as Thorin would like. He wishes he could tell Bilbo everything will be fine, but he still feels unsettled himself. 

He has enough surety to squeeze Bilbo’s hand in reassurance. Then he plucks the acorn up, careful not to crush it. He brings it to Bilbo’s pink lips and presses it to them, the way warriors once kissed their weapons before battle. Bilbo stifles a small chuckle, and Thorin strokes his cheek with the acorn, then traces his jaw, simply to stall giving it back. 

Bilbo is such a pretty thing, though he doesn’t seem to know it. Thorin brushes the acorn back through the honey curls, matted from the sweat and dirt of their journey but lovely in the starlight nonetheless. He draws the nut along the pointed shell of Bilbo’s ear, and Bilbo shudders, breathing, “ _Thorin_ —” It’s that strained, helpless sort of noise he makes when Thorin’s gotten under his ‘proper hobbit’ skin. It only drives Thorin on, to drag the smooth siding of the acorn down the arch of Bilbo’s neck, poking beneath his collar to pet the top of his chest.

“When you plant this tree,” Thorin purrs, “I want you to think of me, of _this_ , and the way it used to feel when I touched you.” Bilbo rasps a keening noise, and Thorin presses a kiss to his forehead, dragging the acorn down the front of his tunic. In truth, Thorin hopes the tree is never planted at all. He still dreams that they’ll resurrect this fair kingdom, and his hobbit will stay with him, or at least stay a little longer. Then there will be no need for reminders, because they’ll have a warm bed to share with each other and see one another’s smiles every day.

Thorin stops just at the point of ripping the tunic. Then he runs over it, down to Bilbo’s round stomach, where he lifts the hem with his other hand to press the acorn into Bilbo’s belly button. Bilbo gasps, perhaps at the coolness of it, and Thorin rotates the nut a few times before slipping beneath Bilbo’s trousers to trace his inner thighs. 

Bilbo tries, “ _Thorin_ ,” again, and this time, he’s rewarded with a kiss. Thorin dips into his waiting mouth and laps hungrily at his tongue, tugging it forward. Bilbo mewls into him, pushes forward but surrenders, lets Thorin nip at him and lick away and claim him. When they part, it’s only so Thorin can run his teeth along Bilbo’s chin, painting his mark on other places.

“I would put this acorn inside you,” Thorin hisses against Bilbo’s face, while he rolls it against Bilbo’s tight stones, careful not to catch on the skin but still rough enough to tease, “But I doubt I could get it out again, with how tight you always are for me...”

Bilbo spreads his legs. He lunges up, and suddenly, he’s sitting in Thorin’s lap, straddling Thorin’s thighs, his arms wrapping tight around Thorin’s shoulders and his mouth kissing hungrily at Thorin’s stubble. Thorin can’t help but chuckle at his hobbit’s eagerness. He adjusts the hand that’s still between Bilbo’s legs, the other smoothing over Bilbo’s ripe rear, squeezing it through the fabric and pulling Bilbo tighter. 

Soon, he hopes, they’ll be alone. They’ll uncover the halls of old, and they’ll find a room, a cot, some privacy and a soft place for them to make love in. For now, they don’t have that luxury. He kisses Bilbo’s cheek and murmurs, “I’m sorry, love. But not here.” Bilbo whines and whimpers, and his face drops into Thorin’s shoulders in frustration. But he stops humping Thorin. Mercifully, Thorin draws the acorn back out of Bilbo’s trousers. He’d thought to run it down Bilbo’s crack, but now he sees how cruel that would be. Instead, he slips it back into Bilbo’s pocket, to be washed when they next get a chance. 

He has to rearrange Bilbo, because this position will do no good to sleep in. He lies carefully down against the stone floor, on his back, and Bilbo squirms but settles atop him, like a living blanket. It’s no less uncomfortable than most of their journey’s been, and Bilbo’s been with him for all of it, even though this is no place for small, gentle folk. 

Before they can sleep, Bilbo mumbles, “I’ll roll it over you tomorrow, so that it’s your body I remember.” And Thorin snorts, patting Bilbo’s back. He’ll look forward to that.

He looks forward to the future and more nights with Bilbo in his arms.


End file.
